


See you soon, someday.

by onlyinhindsight



Series: MadloveforRK Writings [7]
Category: Twilight RPF
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyinhindsight/pseuds/onlyinhindsight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation from the MadloveforRK prompt vault. Things are over between Rob and Kristen. They've begun moving forward on their respective paths, but cutting each other out completely has never been easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kristen said today that she’s a lot happier than in 2012. Can you write something about Rob finding this out and asking Kristen why she wasn’t happy then but is now, when they’re broken up?

She felt the vibrations of her iPhone but kept her head ducked down and body focused forward. Her only concern was the car waiting at the end of the line of vultures outside of the hotel. She ignored the phony, conversational compliments as well as the jabs and questions about Robert and some other woman. She willed her brain to shut off and block their words. Her step never faltered, and she ducked with ease into the back seat. Only after the driver pulled away from the curb did she pull up her shades and glance at her phone.

She stared at the number attached to his face, a picture she’d snapped of him looking down happily, mid-giggle as Bear attempted to lick his face, narrowly catching his neck. Was it really that long ago that they were a family? ‘My family,’ he’d whispered, and she believed.

One missed call followed by a text message. And then another. She looked at Ruth, who was on her phone oblivious to Kristen’s inner debate. To delete or to peek? She bit her lip softly, quietly deliberating and staring at his name and the number and not that picture. Not the picture she needed to change.

Their last conversation had ended abruptly. She had a scene to film, another person to be. She couldn’t handle Kristen’s concerns and Nia’s in the next moment, so she hung up. Or she let him hang up. She couldn’t tell with their frequent silences, and she let her numbness carry her through each scene that day.

Before she could consider it further, her thumb swiped to look over the messages, avoiding his voice mail entirely.

You looked beautiful on Fallon last night. Incredible. Happy. – R

Don’t think I’m media stalking you, but you know mum. She sent me something. You said you’re happier now than you were in 2012? Is that true? – R

The sudden buzz in her palm nearly caused her to drop the phone.

I’ve only wanted you to be happy. – R

She tosses her phone next her with a groan, earning an amused glance from her publicist.

“I’m shouldn’t even ask, should I?” The blonde suppressed a chuckle before distracting her favorite client with idle work-related talk, but it doesn’t last the entire drive.

“I don’t know what to say.” Kristen says suddenly. “How can two people who know each other better than anything not know how to speak to each other?”

“You’re going to hate me. You’re going to think I’m the cheesiest person alive, but how about starting with honesty?” Ruth slid the phone closer to the no-longer-twitching beauty before going back to her scheduler.

Honesty. She woke up the screen and studied his messages again. Honesty. She thought about her former self. That girl in 2012 who’d stood on the edge of Twilight and looked into a chasm, not knowing if she should cling to the edge or jump. She’d wanted to stay feet firmly planted. She’d wanted to fall. She’d wanted him, too. She had a hard time knowing that girl, but she got that girl. She wanted to hold her and to push her, but they would always jump. When faced with a fear, she would always run toward it and wanting him was the scariest.

She let out a deep breath. Honesty was the easiest thing always, Ruth was right.

Aren’t you? Happier, I mean? I’d hope so. I mean,2012 was not a great year in general.– K

She debated tacking on a bit about where they are professionally now versus then. She’d never regret a thing, but she’d be lying if she didn’t acknowledge that the series that gave them the ability to pick and to choose and even quit if they desired it, also gave them an obstacle, a challenge perhaps bigger than obscurity in Hollywood: negative assumptions.

Am I at my happiest? I don’t know that yet, but I feel good. Better. Don’t tell me you are if it’s a lie, but I want you to be happy, too. – K

She wanted to ask if he was happy with her, but she wasn’t ready to show that hand, that insecurity. She didn’t want to be that kind of woman even if deep down she itched to know answers that pictures couldn’t possibly show.

Can you talk? – R

It’s Ruth’s tap on her elbow that alerted her of their arrival, and she could make out a few fans waiting for pictures and autographs. Once she was indoors, her mind made up, she sent another response, and his reply was so immediate, she wondered if it was sent before she’d been able to reply.

How do you feel about Chicago? - R


	2. Angst (Present, Chicago)  Hi , thank you all so much for continuing your stories, they are fantastic pieces of escapism. Can you possibly write another “angsty” one (sorry) based on the macy gray song I try , possibly a reconciliation story?

How do you feel about Chicago?

She wasn’t sure how she felt about Chicago when she informed Ruth of the change in plans. She wasn’t sure about Chicago when she discretely boarded the plane. She still wasn’t sure about Chicago when exited the crowded airport with her hoodie up and her eyes focused on finding where he’d said a car would be waiting. She was relieved when she was safely in the vehicle and had escaped the notice of people concerned with their own arrivals and departures.

Kristen was even more relieved when she found that the back of the car was empty. Not a Rob in sight. Following instructions, the driver led her to the disclosed location without a word, and she needed that silence, that last minute reprieve after her anxiousness during the short flight and the noise of the airport. She took a deep breath and the motion caused the tense muscles in her shoulders to shake, but she wasn’t falling apart.

If there was any part of her that was nervous about entering the hotel, retrieving the room key, and making her way to the elevator, it was her hands. They felt so cold, aged, and weary at that moment. She alternated cupping her fingers in one hand and then the other, soothing the skin on her knuckles, readying herself for invisible blows, the Chicago wind, and whatever her former forever and maybe someday whatever would say that he couldn’t say via text, phone, or Skype.

She hated that she felt safer with the driver who knew to avert his eyes from the recognizable cargo who wasn’t supposed be there.

With a small book bag in hand, she hovered outside the door unsure whether she should knock or use the room key. In the past she would’ve entered without hesitation. Hotel rooms were their homes before and after they owned million-dollar homes. They discovered each other in the rooms of strangers, not realizing that one day they would lay side by side in a house of junk they’d accumulated together and become strangers to each other.

She knocked.

She knocked twice before finally sliding the card and opening the door like a child entering a dark basement instead of well-lit, minimalist hotel suite.

“Why didn’t you just enter?”

She jumped when his voice sounded from her left. “Fuck. Why didn’t you open the door?”

He smirked at her language but merely raised an eyebrow waiting for a response to his question.

“Dude, you can’t just—“ She paused when her eyes landed on his face—“what the—“ She giggled, causing him smile because he knew exactly what she’d noticed.

“Get it out of your system now.”

“No—noooo, it’s not—“ she hiccuped—“it’s not bad, uh, it could be worse—“she tilted her head and reflexively brushed the blonde hair about his upper lip with her fingertips. She snatched her hand back, remembering herself too late. “Sorry, ummm, actually, in a really weird way your mustache looks like dad’s.”

“Yeah?” He nodded to himself, surprised but taking that as a compliment. He’d always liked John. “Maybe I should let my hair grow long like his, too.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” She smiled again, preferring the small talk for once.

“Imagine what people would think, your hair getting shorter as mine lengthens?”

“Ugh, I can see the internet polls already. Who wore it best?” They stared at each other smiling, and it almost felt easy to be friends with an inescapable history.

“So, why did you knock?” So much for small talk.

She shrugged and checked out the room instead of his eyes. “Seemed appropriate.”

“As appropriate as sharing a room in a strange city?”

Chuckling, she turned away and walked toward the couch, setting her backpack beside her. “Chicago is hardly strange, and it’s a suite, not a room.”

“Eh, technicalities.”

She sat and he stood, both with their hands in their pockets for several minutes in silence.

“Should I have come here?”

“Kris, you’ve always had the power here.”

“Bullshit. Should I have come here?”

“Are you here?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Then yes.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, blinking back tears she was through shedding over this relationship. “Technicalities,” she muttered.

“So … you’re happy?”

“That I’m here?”

“I need to smoke. Wanna smoke?”

He held out his cigs just as she pulled out a fresh pack from her bag along with a lighter. Shaking her head with a grin, she stared at him as she lit up and took her first pull since landing. “So much for quitting, huh?”

“You know what they say, the couple that quits together….” He looked at her almost boyishly caught before lighting his own cigarette dangling from his mouth. He’d shocked himself.

Her mouth hung open and a slight bark came out of her throat. “Was that a break up joke?”

“Was that in bad taste?”

“Depends … is it weird that I like the effort?”

“Yeah, definitely weird, but that’s why—“ His face grew serious as he swallowed his words.

She sighed. “Dude, can you do me a favor and sit down?”

She kicked off her shoes, and he settled onto the floor where he stood with his back resting against the wall.

“Rob… are you—“ she studied the red-orange glow between her careful fingers. Are you dating that girl? Are you in love? Are you falling in that direction? Are you fucking her? Are you replacing all the parts of me that were missing? Are you done?

She ends up asking if he’s happy. Happiness is easy. Happiness is safe. She can be happy if he’s happy. Overly happy. So happy, her cup of happiness runneth over.

“Do you remember that day we walked the dogs in the park near the house?”

They’d gotten away with walking the dogs together more than once, but she nodded. 

“We had a 20 minute debate about whether we needed security or if our friends could come and we’d walk as a group instead. It was a beautiful day, and even as we walked together, just us, making plans for dinner, we were aware of every person we passed, every phone visibly in a palm.

“That was a good day. A normal, perfect day, and we were happy and nervous and scared and paranoid. We went home, you made a quiche and I wrote, and then we watched a movie and ended up fucking and missing the last half of it. What was that movie?”

“I don’t remember.” She’d made a lot of quiches, and they’d failed to watch a lot of movies in their entirety.

“It’s not important, but the point I was trying to make is that I was happy then. I was happy to be nervous, scared, and so fucking paranoid with you, Kris. Some days, I felt out of my damn mind with how much I felt that way.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” He put out his cigarette with the bottom of his shoe. “Because I don’t.”

“You don’t know how to be happy without all the rest of the shit tied up in it. I understand,” she insisted.

“That’s not it.” He glared at the glass table between them.

“No?” She raised her eyebrow. “I remember when I could look at you and know exactly what you were thinking. Like, I just knew and I felt secure in that … I don’t understand why you invited me here. You’re going out—you’re with someone? But you text me suddenly after weeks of nothing—“

“You hung up.”

“And you moved on, Rob. You’ve been so—I don’t know what happened. We were talking, and then I left for Japan, and you started shutting me out. And that’s fine. Fine. Okay. Shut me out, but stop cracking the fucking door.”

He groaned and pressed his palms this eyes. “I want—I want you in my life, and I don’t want us to argue.”

“I want that, too, but I can’t be a part of your life right now without things getting all—“she gestured her hands wildly—“you think I can be your best friend, your scripted confidante? While you’re—? What is she to you? No! Don’t fucking answer that.”

“I’m not in love with her. I don’t even know if it’ll lead to that. I’m just trying—she asked me to try.” He spoke the words into his tented hands.

“And if I asked you to try?”

His surprised, pretty blue eyes flicked to green ones averted. “Kris, are you—because I wo—“

“I think you should try with her,” she grounded out softly, interrupting his startled thoughts. “I’m—Ruth has all of these events booked, and there’s all this talk—“ she spoke to her frayed shoelaces—“I don’t want to jinx it, but I need to focus on some things and you need to try, so we should just do that.

“We should try,” she repeated with determination, finally looking him in the eye.

“Okay, but on one condition.”

She waited.

“Give us two days.”

“Rob… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Two days, and then no calls, no texts, no cracked doors.” His long, outstretched legs crossed at the ankles, he held out his hands with his palms facing up in surrender. “This is me trying, Kris.”

“Okay. Two days.” She placed her burnt out cigarette in an ashtray before standing up. “Starting now.”


End file.
